


pizza

by joongz



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, bc there is some weird tension in that game, inspired by good pizza great pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongz/pseuds/joongz
Summary: The (sexual) tension between San, working at La Pizzeria, and his (hot) rival Yunho, working at Street Style Pizza.
Relationships: Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 21
Kudos: 136





	pizza

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryansmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryansmiles/gifts).



> my friend got into good pizza great pizza and made me play it and here we are
> 
> warning: a lot of cliché situations have been used in this
> 
> (please ignore any pizza making inaccuracies thank you)

When San had been sixteen he had visited Italy and eaten the probably largest and best pizza in his life. 

Since then he had devoted his life to the art of pizza making. From learning how to knead the dough and get it to be crispy but juicy at the same time, and how long it should go into the oven; learning on how to make the sauce—you know, _that sauce_ —to finally experimenting with toppings. 

The results he had given to his parents or his best friend Wooyoung to taste test. Sometimes it had ended in Wooyoung giving him a very judgmental glare—like when he had mixed jalapeños, pineapple, and pepperoni. (Not San’s proudest moment.)

At twenty-three San was a master pizza chef and he was working at a small pizzeria on a small street—La Pizzeria was its name, unoriginal and unclever, but still better than those jerks from Street Style Pizza—with regular sized furniture and the largest pizza in the whole of Seoul. Okay, maybe _that last one_ was an exaggeration, but San liked to pretend they were.

“Another customer asking for a pepperoni pizza with no sauce and no cheese,” Jongho announced from the kitchen.

San frowned. 

If it would have been Yeosang working, he would have sent such a crazy request back home, judging the person for even _suggesting_ such creation, but it was Jongho working. And Jongho was too nice to turn down customers, even if they ordered this monstrosity.

“ _Fine_ ,” San said, tone clipped, as he got started, spreading the dough and preheating it in the oven. He got the box with the sliced pepperoni in the meantime. 

A loud clamor from the front of the shop made him curiously angle his body so he could stretch his neck and peek out of the kitchen. Dread filled him as he saw none other than his rival. 

He wrinkled his nose.

Yunho, from the pizzeria across the street. From Street Style Pizza.

Both pizzerias had opened at around the same time, immediately fighting for the best pizzeria spot. San, of course, knew his pizzas were better than Yunho’s, which Yunho seemed to greatly disagree on. They once had tried to settle it in a duel and nearly had gotten themselves fired so they had opted to simply pay each other visits and request the most annoying pizzas while they glared at one another, snarky remarks mumbled under their breaths.

Wooyoung loved to be present when that happened. Yeosang hated it, saying he felt like they were seconds away from aggressively making out, which, first of all, wasn’t the truth and, second of all, _gross_. Jongho was usually impartial to their rivalry.

“Hyung!” Jongho called out. “Yunho is here! How have you been, hyung?” he asked in a friendly manner because of course Yunho had managed to befriend Jongho.

“I _know_!” San responded, quickly finishing the pepperoni pizza, which didn’t take long, naturally. He put it in a box and walked outside, handing it to the customer with a fake smile. Then he faced Yunho. “What do you need?” he asked, annoyed.

He expected Yunho to order some impossible pizza with a condescending tone and a smirk, but instead the other looked hesitant—uncomfortable almost. Like he wanted to do anything else in the world than to be talking with San.

Yunho shifted awkwardly, precariously resting his elbow on the counter, or trying to anyway since he missed it and nearly fell. He grimaced when San snorted.

“I’m here to… talk,” Yunho finally answered.

“Talk?” San questioned. “Talk,” Jongho echoed.

“Yes, _talk_.”

San bit the inside of his cheek, glancing up at the clock. “My shift is over in thirty minutes. Then we can talk.”

Yunho held his gaze, obviously annoyed, but he finally nodded. He walked over to one of the empty tables, letting himself fall into the chair, his back stiff and tense. He looked around like he had never, ever before been in a pizzeria. 

San shook his head. “What a weird guy.”

Jongho shrugged. If it was Wooyoung, he would agree. If it was Yeosang, he would make some over the top suggestive comment.

Thirty minutes later San approached Yunho, elbowing him to get his attention.

“Ow,” Yunho complained, glancing up. “Dick.”

“Ass.” 

“This is the worst,” Yunho muttered under his breath.

“What is?” San asked, elegantly plopping down in the seat across Yunho.

Yunho looked down at his large hands, picking at some dried dough resting near his nails.

“We have received some… complaints lately,” he said with difficulty. San perked, raising his eyebrows. He gestured at Yunho to carry one, overly cheerful. “My boss thought it would be a good idea if we—Eugh, I can’t even say it. He said we should make a pizza together.”

San stared at him, his mirthful smile slipping off his lips until he stared dumbfounded at Yunho. “I—He what?” he deadpanned. “Make… a pizza together?”

Yunho sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yes. A better term would be: _create_ a pizza together. Combine our styles. Our pizzerias want to collaborate.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“No way,” San told him, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “No way am I working with you, you’re a nightmare.”

“Thank you so much,” Yunho quipped. “You’re _worse_ than a nightmare.”

“What’s that? Sleep paralysis?”

Yunho pointed his index finger at him, in a very _aha_ gesture. “ _You’re_ the sleep paralysis demon that visits me!”

San raised one eyebrow, amused. “You dream of me?”

Yunho faltered, obviously flustered. His cheeks grew pink at an alarming speed. “What? _No_! That’s—That’s _not_ how that works.”

After letting out a very long sigh, glancing at Jongho cleaning the counter and Jisung, their other pizza chef, getting started in the kitchen, San reconsidered Yunho’s offer.

“Why me?”

Yunho crossed his arms in front of his chest, mumbling something under his breath.

“Huh? What was that?”

“Because your pizzas are really good!” Yunho snapped. 

San puckered his lips, taking that statement in. It was strangely flattering. Going by Yunho’s pink cheeks and his avoiding eyes, they must have been his true thoughts. Which made it even _more_ flattering. For a second San was speechless.

“Thank you?” he let out hesitantly, his voice high pitched. He frowned, readjusting himself in the seat. He felt as if someone had catapulted him into another dimension. One in which Yunho was complimenting him and San was _liking_ _it_. He was glad now that Yeosang wasn’t working, he would have enjoyed this way too much.

“So are you in—or not?” Yunho asked.

San cleared his throat, tapping the table with his index finger.

He caught Jongho staring at him with raised eyebrows, his phone whipped out and pointed at them. 

Distractedly, San thought, _that little shit_ , out-loud he said, “Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll uh, text you the details,” Yunho said, standing up awkwardly.

“You don’t even have my number,” San pointed out, very quickly realizing what he just had stupidly agreed on. _Fuck, shit. Fuck_. Yeosang would never let him live this down.

“Then give me your number.” Yunho pulled out a notepad and pen from the front of his apron, very aggressively handing it to San.

They met two days after that encounter, much to San’s dismay, in Yunho’s apartment. They had texted back and forth, and after an initial string of cursing and fighting, Yunho had asked if San possessed a pizza oven, to which San naturally had replied, _no_ —who in their twenties, in this economy, possessed a pizza oven?

Yunho did.

He had taken pictures and had sent them to San, to brag, mostly, but also to verify that he did have one and wasn’t just trying to piss off San.

“Nice… decorations,” was the first thing San said upon entering Yunho’s apartment. It mostly looked like one would expect of a twenty-something person: second hand furnitures that didn’t look too terrible, dirty white walls with photographs and pictures, a small flatscreen TV, and a kitchenette that probably had never really seen a good time. The one thing that stood out were all the nerdy figurines standing around. Yeosang would most likely go crazy.

“Shut up, they’re my flatmate’s,” Yunho scoffed, as if the idea alone of San thinking he was a nerd was offensive.

San rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said in a playful tone. He really didn’t care who the nerd was in the household, but he loved to see Yunho worked up.

“ _They are_!” he insisted, slamming his bag on the kitchen counter.

After bantering back and forth on the same topic, they finally dropped it once they had settled into the kitchen and Yunho had pulled out all ingredients necessary to make a basic pizza dough.

San hummed, tilting his head. “So what were you thinking?”

“I have no idea. I was hoping you had some ideas…”

“Great.” San refrained himself from rolling his eyes, but Yunho caught the intent anyway.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “What makes your pizzas oh, so great then? Different from mine?”

“Easy. I put risks into my creations.”

“It _is_ a risk to mix jalapeños and pineapple,” Yunho whispered with a pinched expression.

“What was that?” San gave him a challenging look. “Do you want my help or not?”

“I don’t _want_ it, I was forced to—”

“Yeah, yeah.” San swatted his hand in the air. “I get it, your life is miserable for having to hang out with me, whatever.”

He muttered something else that San did not catch, but before he could even ask, Yunho continued as if nothing, although the tips of his ears were growing pink, “Nothing too crazy, yes? How about we make a list of ingredients to mix together—whatever I have in the fridge—and make a half-half pizza. We try each other’s creations. Sound good?”

San shrugged. “Sure.”

They settled for very basic ingredients at first, to try each other’s pizzas and see what they were working with. 

An awkward atmosphere reigned in Yunho’s kitchen as they stood stiffly, leaning against the counter, and did a fantastic job at avoiding each other’s eyes. San caught Yunho opening and closing his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. San chose to ignore it, not very fond of the idea of talking with Yunho.

“They’ll be done in five minutes,” Yunho spoke up suddenly, glancing at the clock.

San hummed. Yunho hummed back. 

_Riveting stuff_ , San thought grimly.

“Have you… thought of a good idea?” Yunho asked.

“No.” 

“Okay.”

San picked at dry dough under his nails, suffocating in the awkwardness of the situation. He sort of wished they could fall back into their antagonistic ways, but somehow he couldn’t find a curse word to throw at Yunho.

The shrill alarm on Yunho’s phone made him startle, hitting his elbow on the counter. He recoiled, an “Ow, fuck!” slipping past his lips. 

Yunho hurriedly turned off the oven and his phone, then he towered over San, taking his injured elbow in his hands. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked as he pressed his thumb into the flesh.

San hissed. “What the _fuck_ do you think? Of course it does!” He tried to fight it out of Yunho’s grasp, but the taller man held onto it.

“I was trying to see if it’s broken,” he explained, rolling up the sleeve so he could properly inspect it.

San froze, growing aware of their closeness, of Yunho’s cold fingers gracing his skin; of the familiar and comforting scent of dough and tomato sauce and everything he loved clinging to Yunho.

It made him frown.

It made his next breath come out funnily.

“Does it hurt if I—” Yunho was in the process of asking, but San yanked his arm away and pulled his sleeve down.

“I’m fine,” he barked. He backed away—or tried to, anyway—until the kitchen counter dug into his lower back.

Yunho was still towering over him, his eyes flitting over San’s face. He seemed confused. Surprised maybe even. San wasn’t sure what exactly he was surprised about.

“Uh. Right. Sorry.” Yunho shuffled over to the oven, nearly tripping over San’s socked feet. 

After that there was no way to salvage the atmosphere they had created, all they could do now was roll with it.

San went home an hour later. He had tried Yunho’s pizza, which was good, really good, but expectedly so. It was the comfort of working a job and then, every day, getting the same lunch because you liked it and it was part of the routine.

Yunho had complained that, although San’s pizza was good, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what ingredients were in the sauce. That there was too much happening, not a comforting taste. Not a pizza he would eat a second time.

They agreed to meet over the weekend and see how best they could combine their flavors.

“How did it go?” was the first thing Yeosang asked San the following day.

“How did _what_ go?” San countered, pretending he didn’t see the intense curiosity in Yeosang’s eyes. The way he was practically two seconds away from combusting.

“Your date with Yunho!”

San grimaced. “Not a date. Gross.” He playfully punched Yeosang’s arm. “I guess, we didn’t kill each other. Take from that what you will.”

Yeosang hummed, tapping his chin. “I heard a different story.”

San squinted his eyes. “Excuse me?”

All he got in response was a very infuriating sly grin and a shrug. “I have my sources.”

Naturally San dreaded the weekend, which was a very new emotion for him, usually he loved the weekend. It didn’t help that throughout the week, Yeosang kept his haughty act up, always smiling in a knowing way whenever San was in his near vicinity. 

The moment San rang the bell on Yunho’s flat, he wished someone would open the building’s door and knock him out. It didn’t happen, instead Yunho’s voice came through the buzzer. It was different sounding than what San was accustomed to. Deeper somehow, and raspier.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s San? We were meant to meet at 11.”

A long silence followed.

Then, “ _Shit_!”

“Did you forget?” San inquired, irritated.

“Uh, no? I just—” Yunho sighed. “I did forget, sorry. Just come up.”

The door buzzed open.

From all the scenarios San had expected, he had not thought he would enter the flat filled with empty beer cans and a few empty soju bottles. The kitchen was a wasteland of dirty plates and cups. The host himself was at least dressed in clean sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair wet from a shower, and a hangover etched into his face.

Judging, San hummed. “Great,” he drawled out.

“We celebrated my flatmate getting his dream job,” Yunho explained, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“I didn’t ask,” San responded automatically, but strangely it wasn’t as heated or mean as he would have wished for it to be.

“All right, well…” Yunho attempted a weak smile. He looked a lot friendlier, a lot softer than San had ever seen him. It almost prompted him to smile back, but he controlled the corners of his mouth and just rolled his eyes.

“I’ll wait here while you clean your kitchen then,” he said, plopping down on a seat in the living room.

“I’ll make some coffee. Do you want some?”

“Sure.”

Initially San had planned to text in the work group chat, ask how things were going in the pizzeria without him, but his eyes kept being drawn towards Yunho. Before he knew it, he was just staring at him. The warm light from the kitchenette shining down on Yunho was shadowing his face and figure, giving off the image of an entirely different person. Again that softness that San wasn’t used to associating with Yunho, the morning clung to him and something about that made San’s heart stutter suspiciously.

As San sat there, creepily observing his rival, he thought, _I would make him a pizza_. 

He squinted his eyes at the thought, not liking it one bit. He opened his private chat with Wooyoung and began typing out cryptic and stressful messages, to which Wooyoung’s response was emojis and question marks.

With an agonizing groan, San typed out, _You don’t understand_ and left it at that.

Suddenly something very hot touched his cheek and in panic San flinched, flapping his hand wildly in the air. It turned out to be a mistake because he ended up spilling hot coffee onto Yunho’s t-shirt.

“Oh, shit!” 

San jumped out of his seat, taking the steaming cup of coffee out of Yunho’s hand to place it onto the living room table, and pulled at Yunho’s shirt.

“Um.” Yunho coughed into his hand, edging away from San. “I can take care of that myself,” he said warily.

San looked up at him, again that closeness between them that made his next breath sound funny; almost as if he was breathless all of a sudden. He took notice of Yunho’s pink cheeks, feeling himself grow very warm. He looked down at where one of his hands was rumpling the t-shirt material, revealing a sliver of skin just above the waistband of Yunho’s sweatpants.

His brain focused on it for some stupid reason and he wondered if he pulled up the t-shirt would there be abs or not; he wondered what secrets he would find beneath the piece of clothing. Then, because these _very_ thoughts crossed his mind, he pushed the t-shirt down forcefully, letting out a loud and hysterical laugh as he stepped back.

“It’s not what you think,” he said reflectively.

“Not… what I think? So you were not trying to help me?” An infuriating smile was growing on Yunho’s lips.

“No, that’s exactly what I was doing. Nothing else.”

“What were _you_ thinking?” 

“Nothing,” he squeaked out miserably.

Yunho smiled brightly. “Are you even capable of thinking?”

Before San could answer a very pretty man emerged from a room. He had tousled black hair and a very straight nose. San faintly recognized him as one of their regular customers. 

The stranger eyed them with interest, then he said, “I’m not surprised you’re still single, Yunho, if that’s how you flirt.”

Yunho sputtered, embarrassed. He muttered not very friendly things under his breath as he disappeared into his room to change.

“I’m Park Seonghwa. Yunho’s flatmate,” the stranger introduced himself. “You’re San, aren’t you? The incredible pizza chef from La Pizzeria?” San nodded his head, still bamboozled by this sudden and unexpected appearance. “He talks a lot about you. It gets pretty annoying. I don’t even know why he forces _me_ to buy your pizzas instead of doing so himself,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

“ _What_ ,” San deadpanned. The last words caught him off guard. Yunho was doing what?

“Hm?” Seonghwa, unaware of San’s shock, helped himself with a cup of coffee. He turned around to face San again. He laughed then, at his perplexed expression. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

The warmth he had felt before, when Yunho and him had been standing so closely, still prevailed. Seonghwa’s words echoed in his mind, _He talks a lot about you_. San felt a blush creep up his neck and spread out on his face. He was glad Yunho wasn’t there to witness it.

“Actually,” he said with difficulty, coughing into his hand, “I just remembered that I had something to take care of so I will be on my way—”

But before San could move, Seonghwa shook his head, taking a step towards him. “Let’s not do that. He’ll be disappointed if you leave. Besides you have this pizza thing to take care of, don’t ruin it.” San parted his lips, but no sound came out. “I’m already gone. I won’t bother you any further.” 

With that Seonghwa walked back into his room. San stood frozen. He realized if he wanted to he could still leave, but strangely he stayed rooted in the living room. Slowly he came down from his confusion. 

He spotted spilled coffee on the floor and decided to clean it before Yunho came back.

 _He talks a lot about you. He’ll be disappointed if you leave._ San had always thought this rivalry came from both sides. Maybe he had been wrong, but then, what was Yunho’s deal?

On Sunday San met with his friends for a card game afternoon. Somewhere through their third beer, and Jongho winning Uno for the fifth time in a row, San asked, with a slightly tipsy tone, “Do I talk about Yunho a lot?”

A pregnant silence followed. Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Jongho exchanged startled glances as well as a silent conversation that San could not quite read.

“Yes,” was Yeosang’s immediate response. “You do.”

“Come on now, let’s not scare him away,” Wooyoung said, jabbing his elbow into Yeosang’s rips.

“Hyung, I’m sorry to inform you that you do,” Jongho added quietly; almost as if he felt guilty. “You mostly complain about him though. But it’s like a lot. Like—”

“Like you can’t stop thinking about him,” Yeosang added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Sometimes I’m not sure you want to strangle him or… You know.” He vaguely gestured with his hand. “Like, _you know_.”

“I don’t,” San said, but it sounded like a lie even to himself. 

“You say you want to strangle him, but your eyes scream that you’d eat him,” Yeosang clarified unhelpfully.

“Eat him?!” San repeated, alarmed, at the same time as Jongho wrinkled his nose, muttering a very heartfelt, “ _Ew_.”

“Not eat him, but you wouldn’t mind taste those lips,” again Yeosang clarified unhelpfully because now San, curse his mental cinema, was picturing a very heated make out session with his stupid rival.

“No,” he said very decidedly.

“Why do you ask anyway?” Wooyoung wondered, plucking out a card from his deck. It was a draw +4 card. Jongho growled.

“Fuck you, hyung.”

“I asked because… I met Yunho’s flatmate. He said Yunho talks about me a lot,” San explained.

“Oh, you met Seonghwa hyung?” Yeosang asked with interest.

“You know Park Seonghwa?!”

“Yes. We’ve been seeing each other for a while,” Yeosang admitted with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

“What the _fuck_ ,” San muttered under his breath. “Do you know what Yunho says about me?”

Yeosang smiled, not looking at San, instead he put down a color choosing card. “Blue,” he announced, watching with satisfaction how Wooyoung drew card after card. “And yes, I do know.”

San refrained himself from asking for about ten minutes. “What does he say about me?”

“Who?”

“ _Yeosang_ ,” whined San.

Yeosang sighed. “It’s a secret. Sorry. But you might discover it very soon, especially since you’re actually working together with Yunho now.”

What the fuck was _that_ supposed to mean?

When night arrived and San was in his bed, he got out his phone to typed out a message to Yunho.

**Jeong Yunho (Street Style Pizza)**

I know that you’ve been talking about me behind my back.

My source: Park Seonghwa

11:23 PM

fuck

11:25 PM

I mean

What exactly did he say?

11:26 PM

Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?

;)

11:26 PM

oh god…

fuck

that asshole

i’ll kill him

what the fuck

you weren’t supposed to know

this is so embarrassing

of course he would tell you about my crush

i want to die

11:29 PM

Wait, what????

I was lying, hoping you would accidentally reveal it

11:29 PM

oh

oh thank god

omg

11:31 PM

You have a crush?

11:31 PM

Yunho???

11:43 PM

The next time they met it was two weeks later. Yunho had barely spoken to him, continuously finding excuses as to why he couldn’t meet San. At first San had believed him, but then he had received a message from Seonghwa, stating that Yunho was purposefully avoiding San for “very stupid reasons”, and he had begged San to come over on Friday, which San had agreed to.

“What are you doing here?” Yunho asked alarmed when San was standing at his threshold. Yunho was wearing a faded t-shirt with a Tyrannosaurus Rex in a clown costume, a speech bubble next to it that read, ‘I work at the carnivore’. San made a displeased face at the pun.

“Seonghwa hyung said I should come by so you stop ignoring me.”

Yunho sputtered, his face scrunching up (adorably; _no, San, it’s not adorable!_ ). “Don’t listen to what he says!” he complained but did step aside to let San in.

“You know, you came to me for help. I could be doing anything right now but I am here to help you,” San told him.

“Your boss would have brought this up to you at some point,” Yunho shot back. 

San pressed his lips together, shooting him a very unimpressed look.

Yunho held up his hands. “Fine. You win. Sorry for avoiding you.”

“Why were you avoiding me?” he asked after discarding his jacket and bag. He tilted his head when Yunho stayed quiet.

He shrugged. “For stupid reasons, I guess. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

They didn’t talk as they got ready. Yunho put on a very cringey apron, with flowers and a teddy bear. He offered one for San, equally as cringey, and San was seconds away from refusing, but then Yunho just walked up to him and put it around his neck.

“It suits you,” he said.

“It does not,” San said, tying a knot around his waist. He was wearing all black, this apron with cutesy animals did _not_ suit his outfit.

“It does,” Yunho insisted, smiling. It was the kind of smile he wore after saying or doing something he knew would frustrate San, so San chose not to enable him. It caused Yunho to pout slightly.

“It doesn’t,” San muttered under his breath.

The taller hummed in a very annoying and dismissive way. The kind that made San want to strangle him, but at the same time he allowed Yunho this small victory. Something about that utterly pleased smile on his face was just—just—

“I have come up with an idea,” Yunho announced once they had settled into the kitchen comfortably and were getting ingredients for the dough.

“Which would be?”

“We use your weird sauce, but make the toppings regular and bland. That way it holds that kind of exciting base that makes it special, but it’s not a complete chaos of flavors in your mouth.”

San stayed quiet, contemplating the idea. He hated to admit that it was good.

“Okay,” he bit out.

They worked in silence, the radio accompanying them throughout the process. Sometimes they exchanged words and sentences (“pass me the mixer” and “that’s enough garlic” and “no, it’s not, shut up”).

When the pizza was in the oven, they cleaned up the mess they had made. San was trying so hard not to ask, but after Seonghwa had come and gone, a smug smile thrown at them—one Yeosang often used—San couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“So… Who is your crush?” he asked.

Yunho startled, dropping the sponge he had been using to pass over the kitchen counter. He glanced at San briefly before he picked up the sponge. His ears were very pink. 

“No one.”

“You admitted it yourself!” San pointed out. “Who is it?”

Yunho sighed. He turned around to face San, his head tilted slightly. He looked funny like that: with the flowery apron and flour in his tousled hair and on the tip of his nose, his cheeks again tinged pink, his eyes almost matching the darkness from outside. It was soft and at the same time there was something painful about it.

Something about the sight made San’s heart stutter.

“Why are you asking?”

“Uh.” San had no answer to that; _why_ was he asking? “Because you brought it up. When I said I knew what Seonghwa said, you brought it up. I want to know.”

Yunho seemed to consider it, then he said, “No.”

“Come on,” San whined, but Yunho shook his head.

“Nope. Suffer.”

San’s desire to keep pestering him about it was cut short abruptly when Yunho blew a huge amount of flour at San, laughing when San sputtered.

“You look ridiculous,” Yunho said. San couldn’t see him, his eyes closed, but it sounded _fond_. 

San was now fighting the flour in his face and the stutter in his heart, that kept happening over and over again.

“You asshole! I hate you,” he kept whining. Yunho was still laughing when he helped him clean his face.

After setting up the TV with a movie and getting drinks and popcorn, the two young men sat down on the couch, sprawled out after all the baking and discussing. San was bone tired, working full-time making pizzas and then seeing his rival to continue making pizza was tiring, in so many ways. He had to keep reminding himself that Yunho was Yunho: the enemy, not, well, Yunho: a very endearing entity.

“This tastes so bad,” Yunho whined, throwing the piece of pizza back on the plate. He grabbed the bowl of popcorn instead and filled his mouth with copious amounts of popcorn. “I can’t believe you let me put all of these toppings on it. It’s garbage.”

“Funny how the Play-Doh doughs you,” San said.

Yunho stared at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

But Yunho was already laughing: partly confused, partly amused. His nose scrunched up and his eyes crinkled. 

“You’re funny.”

San fought off a blush, staring at the screen of the TV, but he was suddenly very aware that their knees were touching and if San reached for the popcorn there was a chance Yunho would too and their fingers would brush together. That seemed dangerous.

“You know what’s funny,” Yeosang said one day, smugly. 

“What is?” San wondered, battling with the dough Jisung had prepared previously. He either managed to make it too dry or too sticky. It was annoying.

“You go over to Yunho’s almost every second day now, make pizza with him, and then eat said pizza with him and watch a movie,” he listed, still smugly. “It’s so domestic.”

San glanced up, glaring at his co-worker and, disappointingly, friend. “Seonghwa,” he growled. “I’ll kill him.”

“Aw, come on. It’s cute. You’re both cute,” Yeosang insisted.

“It’s not. We’re not.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’re not cute; you’re _enemies_ and will face each other on the day of the Apocalypse with pizza cutters in hand, and battle it out.”

“You’re weird,” was all San commented on that because _yikes_.

“Seonghwa hyung thinks it’s charming.”

“He’s weird too.”

But even if he pretended he didn’t see what Yeosang was talking about, he definitely did see what Yeosang was talking about. It really was sort of domestic. Almost like a— _No, don’t think it. You’ll only manifest it. The universe is onto you._ San banned the topic from his mind and concentrated on taming Jisung’s stupid dough.

Wooyoung would proudly pat San’s shoulder at the sight of Yunho and him getting along. No murderous glares had been exchanged, no curse words thrown at one another, no attempted kills. It was going smoothly, for the most part.

Of course San couldn’t stop wondering who Yunho’s crush was, and how it was related to him. _Oh god_ , he thought, _what if it’s Yeosang? Or Wooyoung? Or Jongho?_

Yunho was pink cheeked as he stood by San’s side, their arms brushing together, their fingers meeting as they kneaded the dough thoroughly. The music of the radio had switched from something upbeat to something quieter, a soft song from some English artist. San didn’t understand most of the words, but he did catch _love_ , and _I want you_ , and other sweetnesses. 

Strangely the kitchenette felt smaller, and so did the space between them. And San prayed Yunho didn’t understand English well. The words were very loud in the silence, too loud for San’s liking.

“Halloween is coming up,” Yunho suddenly spoke up. They were applying the sauce and their chosen ingredients for this collaboration.

“It is,” San agreed.

“There’s a party. Well… Seonghwa hyung is throwing a party— _here_. And I was wondering,” Yunho continued as he sprinkled cheese on top, “if you would like to, I don’t know, show up… You don’t have to, of course. You probably already have plans and—”

“I don’t,” San interrupted him. “I don’t have plans.”

“Okay.” Yunho glanced down at him, quickly looking away when San looked back. “You can come to our party then,” he rushed out. “You can bring your friends. I’m sure hyung wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Cool. It’s nothing big. It’s probably very not—cool. I would understand if you wouldn’t want to come—”

“Yunho,” San interrupted him again. “I said I don’t have other plans and that I’ll think about it. Most likely I will come.”

“Okay,” Yunho breathed out. San noticed once that his cheeks were pinker than before, nearly a scarlet red. “Okay.”

With silence covering them they finished preparing the pizza, their third try of the day. They had been opting between adding the truffle paste or not, and whether it should be spicier or not.

As San fought with the oven, trying to shove the pizza inside, he felt Yunho yank him back all of a sudden. San let out a yelp, crashing into something very solid and warm, strong arms coming around his waist.

Faintly, a (cursed) thought crossed his mind, _oh, wow, muscles!_

“Are you alright?” Yunho asked. “I thought you were going to burn yourself,” he added worriedly, still holding San.

“You’re… hot,” San said because Yunho’s body heat was, indeed, very high. Like a furnace.

He couldn’t see Yunho’s face, but he imagined that thing he always did when he was confused or flustered, the half scrunch of his nose, half smile, his eyes crinkling. It was really stupid, and very endearing as San had come to realize lately.

Yunho chuckled breathlessly. “Uh, thank you. Don’t you want to invite me to coffee first?”

It was a joke, obviously, but San decided to play along. He moved out of Yunho’s arms, nearly slipping on nothing but air as he was a bit weak on the knees. He turned around, plastering on a stupid smirk—one he had learned from Wooyoung, when he fake flirted with customers for a tip—and said, very boldly, “How about we skip the coffee?”

There was a tense silence after that. San was regretting it already, mentally face palming himself, but then Yunho’s lips twitched.

“I never skip coffee.” He burst out laughing, his cheeks again pink, his eyes crinkling. It was a high pitched, almost embarrassed laugh, one San hadn’t heard before.

He let out a breath of relief. Relieved that Yunho hadn’t taken it too seriously, relieved that he could play it off as a joke, but he was now really considering _this_ —whatever it was. Maybe Yeosang had been right all along.

The most horrifying thing about Seonghwa and Yunho’s Halloween party was not the cheap decoration hanging around or the cheap alcohol in the kitchen, not even the snacks that looked like organs and cut off fingers which weren’t enticing at all. It was seeing Yeosang and Seonghwa make out heatedly on a seat as if they hadn’t seen one another for a century.

“It’s kind of cute,” Wooyoung said.

“I have to greatly disagree, hyung,” Jongho muttered, the disgust on his face was almost funny, but San felt the same about them.

“I wish I had someone to make out with like that,” Yunho said.

San glanced at him, blushing as the vision of them making out revisited him, and it was so much worse this time because Yunho was _right there_ and he had said those words, and now San felt very conscious of his own thoughts. What if Yunho could read his thoughts? 

_Think about something else_ , he urged himself, imagining pizza toppings. But the mushrooms morphed into Yunho’s face and suddenly the pizza sauce became San and they were at it again.

“Haha.” San laughed fakely. “Same.”

“I could think of a solution,” Wooyoung said cryptically. Or he thought he was being cryptic, but San could see right through him and so he punched his friend’s shoulder, glaring at him.

“I don’t think the person I want to kiss wants to kiss me,” Yunho told Wooyoung, dramatically sighing into his nearly empty cup.

San cleared his throat, looking anywhere but Yunho and his friends, and said, _very_ boldly, “Maybe he does but he is just in denial.”

Jongho’s eyes widened, watching them. He shuffled over to Yeosang and Seonghwa and hissed, with urgency, “It’s happening. I think it’s happening.”

“Ah…” Yunho held a peculiar smile. “I don’t think so. He hates me.”

San bit the inside of his cheek. “ _Maybe_ he pretends to hate you because he doesn’t want to admit he likes you. Because you’re— _you_.”

“I’m me?” Yunho echoed, confused. His cheeks were that pink color San was so used to now, his lips twitching like he wanted to smile or laugh, or do something else in embarrassment. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re infuriating.”

“Now that’s not very nice, San,” remarked Yeosang, his head resting on Seonghwa’s shoulder. He was grinning hugely. San did not trust him one bit. 

“Shut up.”

“Anyway,” Wooyoung jumped in, dragging out the second ‘y’, “Yunho, what are your thoughts on San’s costume?”

San absolutely hated him.

Yunho’s eyes widened. He looked at San, guilt in his eyes as they met San’s, as if he was asking him not to judge him for looking at him. A strange rush of power went through San at that as well as a very strong blush spread out over his face.

“It’s… nice,” was what Yunho ended up saying.

San was a pizza. It was noteworthy to point out he was dressed as a _sexy_ pizza. 

The top half was one of those cheap costumes one could get online that looked really cool in the preview but when they arrived they were discolored and hung sadly. A piece of pepperoni had fallen off at least three times. The bottom half were just stockings and black hiking boots, because even if San was going for a sexy concept, he couldn’t risk getting sick.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

It was twisted really. The universe was a sick bastard. Yunho, coincidentally, was also dressed as a pizza. 

But Yunho was a scary pizza, fake sauce—or was it meant to be fake blood because Halloween?—splattered everywhere and a variety of toppings printed to the design of the pizza that should not go together. That was the scary part, Yunho had said.

Yunho smiled hesitantly. “Thank you.”

It was then that San noticed their friends had gone each to attend their own businesses. Yeosang and Seonghwa were back making out, Wooyoung was in the kitchen convincing Jisung and Changbin that the earth was flat, and Jongho was watering one of Yunho and Seonghwa’s houseplants that didn’t look too healthy.

San seized this peaceful moment to say, “I don’t hate you.”

“ _Oh_.”

“I mean I do, but I also don’t.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Yunho inquired after a short silence.

This was it, San thought. If he had read Yunho’s cryptic messages and interpreted those pink cheeks correctly, then this was it. The moment of truth.

“It means you are very infuriating, and I could argue with you for hours and kick your shins, but you’re also very endearing and your smile makes me want to bake you a pizza,” he rushed out, holding Yunho’s surprised gaze. “And I sometimes want to kiss you to make you shut up because you’re so frustrating, do you get it?”

Yunho stared at him in surprise some more, his eyes wide and his (stupid) lips parted. Then he let out an embarrassed, high pitched giggle—a _giggle_ —that made his face scrunch up in that endearing way.

 _Damn it_ , San thought. He had been a fool.

“I get it,” Yunho finally spoke. “You too are a very infuriating person because you’re so—so oblivious to anything that doesn’t go your way or fits into your experiences. All this time you thought—you thought I was _fighting_ with you!” He exclaimed in disbelief. San wished he could pretend he wasn’t hearing him and blame it on the loud music, but there was no escape for him. He had to listen to this and be embarrassed. “I was _flirting_ with you!” Yunho said, laughing freely. He seemed very delighted by this turn of events, that he could hold this over San. “I was flirting with you,” he repeated. “I thought it was all playful.”

“Shut up!”

Yunho grinned then, all mischievously and with stars in his eyes. “Make me.”

“Oh, all right,” San hissed and pulled at the stupid pizza costume Yunho was wearing so he could kiss him. 

From somewhere, Yeosang whooped loudly.

San wanted to murder him but for now he would just enjoy kissing Yunho.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! <3
> 
> twt: @hhhjoong  
> curiouscat: [here](https://curiouscat.qa/mist_)  
> 


End file.
